This began as an e-mail correspondence with a friend of mine. I pondered the use of the words “Cancer Survivor”, and whether it was a good way of thinking about oneself. My friend wrote:
    Using a word like survivor implies— to me— the word victim. Victim, in turn, means some people are innocent in what’s happened to them and deserve support/pity/compassion, as opposed to those people who did something with which we don’t agree, or did something immoral, or did something unhealthy and deserve all the pain and suffering they’re getting heaped on their heads. You should hear me rant about obituaries, especially ones in the New York Times— This one “suffered valiantly” against illness, as opposed to the poor, gutless, quivering schmuck over there who died slobbering….
    The way “survivor” is bandied about in cancer circles is a case in point. When I first learned of my cancer, I did a lot of reading, and it seems that people who currently have cancer ,as well as those in remission, all call themselves survivors. This struck me as odd, kind of like calling oneself a survivor of a hurricane as it continues to swirl and blow around you. As you pointed out, survivor indicates victimhood, and I am not much for claiming that label, or for joining the culture of victimhood.
    Cancer is simply a disease. If people who have or had cancer are victims, there must be a perpetrator. If that is the case, who was it? Was it I? Did I cause my cancer? No, I did not. On the other hand, perhaps it was God. God caused my cancer. If I believe that, then I believe that I must have done something to cause God irritation or anger, and cancer is retribution for that act or acts. However, I do not see God as a malevolent god, rather a loving one, so, at least in my case, I won’t say “God did this to me.”
    Perhaps I can say that God allowed this to happen to me for a reason or reasons that are still unclear— perhaps a test of my faith or a test of my ability to cope with fatigue, nausea, muscle aches, and peripheral neuropathy.
    I choose to see my cancer as the crucible of refining my faith, as a silversmith heats metal to remove the impurities contained to leave the real silver, which is much more valuable.
    I was told, after my diagnosis, that it would be okay to be mad, okay to ask “Why me?.” To me, that was selfish and indulgent. “Why NOT me?” was the question that I asked. What makes me think that I have some kind of immunity? Do I deserve deferential treatment because I am, well, special? Why should I think that I was any less likely to get a disease than anyone else was?
    I will grudgingly say that people who are in remission could use the term survivor. I choose not to. I say that“I have cancer” or“I’m fighting cancer” or “I’m a cancer patient”, partly because I haven’t been declared medically to be in remission and partly because cancer, whether it’s active or dormant or in remission is always going to be a part of me, kind of like my arms and legs are a part of me. Just as I am cognizant of my by-pass surgery, I am cognizant of my cancer. I have physical scars on my arms and legs and chest from the heart operation. I have a small scar on my neck from the cancer biopsy. I have a scar on my back from disk surgery and one  on my abdomen from colon surgery and another from an appendectomy and, for good measure, one from a hernia operation. Does this make me a “hernia survivor” or a “colonectomy survivor?” So why would having cancer make me a cancer survivor?
    Mostly I look at myself as a cancer veteran, much as a soldier who went through a war or as one who served his hitch in the army.
    In the final analysis, it seems to simply come down to semantics. I choose not to be a victim. I choose to be a person who has a disease or condition that has caused me some sickness and a modicum of suffering. There is not much more to it than that.

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